Shotgun Rider
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When Bart Maverick hits a bad streak and finds himself almost broke, he's forced to take a temporary job as a shotgun rider for a stage coach company. Needless to say, the trip doesn't go as expected.
1. Four Deuces

Chapter 1 – Four Deuces

"I'll see your fifty and raise you a hundred."

That was the first thing I'd said in almost an hour. It had been a brutal night and the cards were falling every way but mine. Joe Brady raised an eyebrow skeptically, the most emotion he'd shown in the three nights I'd been playing against him. Actually he was only one of several in the group at the poker table, but he had already proven to be the most challenging opponent in the whole town.

"Uh-oh. That sounds like trouble," Joe replied succinctly, and threw one hundred dollars into the pot. "Call."

"Call," Pete Kramer echoed as he put his money on the table.

"Cards?" Neal Russell, the man dealing the hand asked.

"One," I told him, and pushed my discard, the three of spades, face down across the table.

"Two," was Joe's request, and he laid down his two cards and received two new ones in return.

"Two for me," Pete stated. He slid his two cards across the table and picked up what Neal dealt him. I could tell from the minute change in Pete's expression that he hadn't gotten anything worth staying in the game for, and finally looked at the card I'd gotten. The seven of clubs. Well, that was actually a change of direction. All night I'd gotten the right card at the wrong time or the wrong card at the right time; it was a nice change to get just what would do me the most good at the best time. Three sevens and two beautiful ladies, and I had high hopes for my full house.

"Another hundred." I plopped the money on the table and watched Joe closely. He did nothing to betray his cards, but raised my wager by a hundred dollars more. I almost let out a sigh but knew better than that. I was sure that if I did, Joe Brady would assume he had me beat. There was too much riding on this hand and things needed to get better, not worse.

Pete shook his head as he picked up his cards. "Too much for me," he pronounced. He laid his hand, face down, on the table.

I swallowed hard and threw in three hundred dollars. "Your hundred and two more," I announced, and Joe actually grinned.

"Call," my opponent declared, and I laid down my cards.

"Full house. Sevens over Queens." The expression on Joe's face never changed, and I knew I was in trouble.

"Hope this doesn't ruin your night, Maverick," came the remark that was destined to do just that. It doesn't happen often, but my stomach turned over as I stared at Brady's four deuces. Damn! Of all

the . . . well, I wouldn't call it luck, because luck is only a small part of poker, but the lovely lady sure wasn't smiling on me right now.

I looked down at the pitifully small pile of money I was left with as Joe raked in his winnings. Ten, maybe twenty dollars at the most lay in front of me as I swallowed. Hard. I hadn't counted on this.

I do my best to win when I play poker. Everyone does, I'm sure. But since I make my living with the game I love and have spent my whole life playing, it's always upsetting when this happens. And yes, it's happened way more than once.

Unless a miracle occurred in the next few minutes, Bart Maverick was going to have to get a . . . job.

I've done a lot of things in my life when luck or the cards have gone south. A lot of things I'd rather not do – but when you're looking at a poke of ten dollars there isn't much question that you'll do just about anything. I do try to limit my business ventures to those things that are legal – or mostly legal. I've been inside too many jail cells and have no burning desire to end up inside one again.

There's a whole slew of Mavericks out there in the world, but our branch of the family tree isn't all that big. I'm the younger of two brothers, with only a year and a few months between us. Bart is my name, as you probably guessed, and my brother's name is Bret. We spend our lives wandering around the country, doing our best to make money while avoiding anything that even vaguely resembles work.

Brother Bret and me tend to spend a lot of time together, but at this exact moment he was somewhere around Santa Fe, New Mexico, and I was in Lubbock, Texas. We hadn't seen each other for two or three months and I was really starting to miss him. That usually happened to both of us right around the same time, and we'd change our travel plans and meet somewhere in or near the middle. I'd sent him a telegram just yesterday and already gotten an answer – but if we were to meet in Amarillo I needed more than ten or twenty dollars – and I needed it now.


	2. Shotgun Rider

Chapter 2 – Shotgun Rider

Brady had taken me to breakfast and I wasn't about to turn down a free meal. Joe was a good sort, somebody you'd want as a friend if you were inclined to stay in one place and acquire those. Fairly tall and rangy, he had short, curly hair and friendly eyes. He also had a fledgling business in need of an employee, but I didn't know that at the time.

"Tough luck tonight, Bart. I didn't know you could have a bad night like that. Hope my deuces didn't get you in too much trouble."

I took my time answering – it isn't easy to respond quickly when your mouth is full of food. Besides, I wanted to word my answer just right. "I've been in worse spots, Joe. But it just might be time to replenish the coffers away from the poker table. I need a bigger stake if I'm gonna meet my brother in Amarillo."

"Amarillo, huh? When are you supposed to be there?"

"A couple weeks. Maybe a little longer. Bret's telegram sounded like he's got all the Maverick luck at the moment."

"I thought you didn't believe in luck."

"Oh, but I do. The lady is certainly real – it's just that I don't count on her for help. If she happens to show up, it's great. It's even better if she shows up for me. But I had to learn a long time ago to play poker without countin' on her participation on a regular basis. And sometimes she doesn't give me a look at all, and I end up like I did tonight."

"What are you gonna do?"

I resisted the urge to throw my hands in the air and wail and moan. Mavericks hate work with a passion, and I was a full-fledged hater of the first order. I gritted my teeth while picking up my coffee cup. "Look around for somethin' I can make money doin' for a week or so. Just enough to get back to the tables."

I finished my breakfast and didn't see the wheels turning in Joe's head. We sat and drank the black liquid for a few minutes before my poker nemesis spoke again. "I might just have something that would fill the bill. Sure you just don't want me to lend you a new stake?"

Not working was a good thought and I appreciated the gesture, but I didn't want to leave Lubbock owing anyone money, and I had no idea when I'd be back this way. "Nope, but I do thank you for the offer. What have you got that needs a hand?"

"Did I tell you I own a stagecoach line?"

That was news to me. "Uh – no."

"Just a small one. We've got three coaches and they run regular routes between here and Abilene, Amarillo and Midland-Odessa. Things are goin' pretty good, and we just got a contract to ship mail and bank business back and forth. Matter of fact, there's a special shipment goin' to Abilene, and that's my problem."

"How's that?" I asked.

"My regular shotgun rider on that route broke his leg and can't make the trip. How do you handle yourself on top of a coach?"

That was a question I definitely hadn't been asked before. "Pretty fair," I finally told him. "Only one problem – one run won't make me enough money for a poker stake."

Joe seemed highly amused. He definitely knew something he hadn't yet shared with me. "That's just it. This is a special run; the Bank of Lubbock is transferring forty thousand dollars to the Bank of Abilene, and they're payin' a big premium to get it there in a hurry. This one run pays a five hundred dollar bonus, and I'm willing to split that. It won't be an easy trip; the whole town knows what's bein' shipped. Nobody wants the job. That's why the bonus."

The description made me pause. I'd done some things that were crazier for a lot less than two hundred fifty dollars. That would give me enough time and enough money to make myself a good stake before meeting Bret. But was it worth the risk?

I thought about it for a minute or two. I didn't see any other way around the situation I'd gotten myself in, and I made my decision. "Where and when?"

Joe looked quite serious. "Are you sure? I don't wanna talk you into somethin' you don't wanna do."

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'm sure. This will be a lot easier than some of the things I've done for money. And it solves your problem."

Joe slapped me on the back and almost knocked me over. "Thanks, Bart. This is an awful important trip for the stage line. I won't forget what you've done for me."

Little did I know, neither would I.


	3. The Stage to Abilene

Chapter 3 – The Stage to Abilene

Joe hadn't answered the question of when until I'd already made the decision to take the job. He'd said the where was Lubbock to Abilene; the when was the very next day. Better sooner than later; I wouldn't have too much time to change my mind. I was almost flat broke, and ten dollars wasn't enough to get me into a game. I checked out of the hotel and moved my belongings to Joe's office.

Shotgun Rider was too simple a name for the job. If you were smart you had more than just a shotgun along on the trip. I made sure there was a rifle and plenty of ammunition, as well as my Colt and the Remington in my shoulder holster. And I took a page from the Dandy Jim Buckley Book of Survival – Jim was a longtime friend of mine – and did something unusual for me – tucked a knife in my right boot. I hoped that would be the last I had to see of it. Besides, it was uncomfortable.

The stage was to leave at nine o'clock the next morning, and I had slept in Joe's back office to save money. I was up in time for breakfast and broke that last ten dollar bill to get it. Back to the stage office I went, expecting to meet the coach driver before we loaded and left. There was no one there but Joe, and I was surprised. Stage drivers have a bad habit of being early, which is the biggest reason that coaches tend to leave on time. So I looked at Joe with all curiosity while asking, "Where's our driver?"

"You're lookin' at him," came the reply.

"You – what?" was my startled question.

"My driver quit. Wasn't willing to make the trip."

"And you're driving because . . ."

"Nobody else to do it. I don't have a choice if I wanna keep the contract I just got, and that's the only way to keep the line in business. I worked too hard to get it this far, Bart. I can't afford to lose it now."

"What about your other drivers?"

Joe laughed, an unhappy sound. "They won't make the run. They're scared, and they're anticipating trouble."

"Just like you did," I pointed out. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"You ain't gonna back out on me now, are you?"

Every bone in my body was screaming _'Yes! Yes! That's exactly what I'm gonna do. Run as fast as I can away from all this. I'll do anything else to make some money!'_ "No," I finally heard myself saying. "I'm not." Now why did I do that?

We had everything loaded and ready to go by a few minutes after nine. Besides the mail and the unusual bank transfer, we were carrying three passengers – a man, a woman, and a little boy. Brady told me all about them as we started for Abilene.

The man was a friend of Joe's, 'Smash' Miller, who owned saloons in Lubbock and Abilene. He traveled back and forth regularly to both establishments and this was his standard trip. Smash acquired his name because he tended to break furniture when he got angry about something; he had quite a temper and his saloons were constantly redecorated.

The woman was a widowed lady named Sarah Gray. Actually I should call her a young widowed lady; Mrs. Gray couldn't have been a day over twenty-two or three. Joe told me her husband had been a cavalry lieutenant who was killed in a skirmish with the Apache's. She was visiting friends in Lubbock but was returning home to Centerville, just outside Abilene. The boy was her son. He looked to be about three or four years old, with brown hair and big brown eyes, and seemed fascinated with my shotgun. His name was Nate, and Joe said he looked just like his pa.

The first leg of the trip was quiet – relatively speaking. We saw nothing of any consequence and Brady and me spent most of the time talking about his efforts to build a respectable business, and my efforts to avoid anything that resembled gainful employment.

By late afternoon we'd reached the way station at Bodie Springs, where we stopped for a change of horses and a quick meal. Little Nate was trying to drive his mother crazy and I took him out to meet the new team pulling the coach. Poor woman deserved a few minutes to herself and I tried to give it to her.

He was a chatty little fellow, and asked all sorts of questions. The one he kept asking over and over was, "How come you have such a big gun?" Like I said earlier, he was fascinated by the shotgun I was carrying.

I laughed and told him, "It's to keep you and your mama safe." He seemed content with that, and I just hoped I didn't have to prove it to him.


	4. Dodging Arrows

Chapter 4 – Dodging Arrows

It was after ten that night when we finally got to the next way station, a place called Hunter's Ridge. A late supper was followed by a few hours stopover for some sleep. There wasn't a bed for everyone, so Brady and me slept in the coach. Both of us were up right after sunrise and worked on getting ready to roll while the passengers were awakened and fed breakfast. I grabbed coffee, and we tried our best to hurry everybody along.

It was mid-morning at the first sign of trouble. I'd been watching the landscape for a while; it looked like there was a lot of dust being kicked up just to the west of us. "Whatta you think?" I questioned Joe. I hadn't made a lot of runs on top of the coach, but I'd ridden in them on enough trips to know a problem when I saw one.

"I don't like it," came back quickly from the driver.

"That makes two of us. Indians?"

"Possibly Apaches. We usually don't have any trouble on this route."

That wasn't comforting. I kept my eye on the dust cloud and it seemed to be gaining on us. I leaned over the side and yelled at Miller, "You got a gun?"

"Yeah," came back quickly. "We got trouble?"

"Maybe Apaches," I answered. "Be ready."

We covered another few miles before I could make out just what was chasing us. It was definitely Indians, but looked like Kiowa rather than Apache. And there weren't as many of them as the dust cloud had made it seem, maybe half a dozen.

They got close and Joe slowed down until they were alongside us. After some back and forth in Kiowa, Brady pulled the team to a halt. The Indians stopped with us and the back-and-forth conversation continued. The shotgun was on my knees, and that's where it stayed while Joe and one of the braves talked. I have to admit I was nervous, even though the Kiowa hadn't caused any trouble in years, but I knew better than to show it. After a few minutes I heard something that sounded like 'thanks' and the braves took off, back the way they'd come. I let out a breath and Brady looked at me and grinned. We started off again, a little faster this time.

"What was that all about?"

"The Kiowa know this line. They've watched us go back and forth for months with no problems or trouble. We've even done them a few favors. They wanted me to know the Apaches have been threatening to attack, and to be on the lookout for 'em."

"That's it? They chased us all that way just to give us a warning?"

Joe nodded, still with a grin on his face. "If you could have seen your face when they left . . ."

I didn't want to imagine. "I'm just glad that's all it was."

A shake of the head. "I wish. I think their warning was all too real. An Apache attack wouldn't surprise me a bit."

I gave an involuntary shudder. "I sure hope they're wrong."

Late afternoon we got to the next way station, or rather what was left of it, and I wish we hadn't. The Kiowa might have warned us, but they hadn't warned the people at Nearing Station. There was nothing left of the barn but ashes; why they'd burned that and not the house, I don't know. The livestock was gone and there was a body lying face down on the steps, an arrow in his back. It was plain as day he'd been scalped. Joe pulled the team to a halt and I climbed down and opened the coach door. "Miller, keep your eyes open. We're gonna see what else is inside. Mrs. Gray, best you and the boy stay here until we know what we're facin'." She nodded and I closed the door and headed for the station itself, gun drawn. Joe had already moved the body and was in the house.

It was awful, to say the least. Everything that might have been usable was smashed and destroyed; all the food and provisions were gone. There was a woman's body in the corner of the room . . . if there'd been anybody else here, we didn't find them. Brady shook his head. "Thelma and Fred Weaver. Good people, damn it." Joe began the search for a shovel and I went back outside to check the privy, which seemed to have been left intact. I returned to the coach.

"Mrs. Gray, the facilities are available. I suggest you and the boy use them. Smash, go with them and stand guard, would ya? Brady and me gotta take care of the Weavers."

"Is there any food here, Mr. Maverick?" The woman asked.

"No ma'am, not that we've found. Sorry."

Brady had already carried the woman's body out back; I helped him with her husband. We got the graves dug and the Weavers buried without so much as a word passing between us. I kept reminding myself that I'd taken this job voluntarily and there was nothing to do but see it through, however it ended. When we finished behind the house we went back to the coach and unhitched the horses; watering them and discussing the next move.

"The horses need rest, Joe. You and I both know that. They ain't gonna be no good without it."

"That means we stay here all night with no food, waitin' to see if the Apaches come back. I don't like those odds, Bart."

I didn't either, but what else were we supposed to do? "Look, there's three of us with guns. We can pull the coach around back and take turns standin' guard. Any rest we can give the horses is better than none. At least we've got water."

Brady had a strange expression on his face as he looked at me, and I knew he was weighing the odds against us if we did as I'd suggested. Finally he acknowledged the fact we wouldn't get very far if we tried to keep pushing the horses well past their limit. "Alright, let's get everybody inside and see what we can make of it."

An hour later we'd done everything we could to create order out of chaos. We'd actually managed to put together a bed for Mrs. Gray and Nate, and cleared enough space for whoever wasn't standing guard to lie down. We even found a jar of peaches that Mrs. Weaver had hidden away; probably saving them for a special occasion. At least Nate and his mother got something in their stomachs.

I took the first watch. I stayed out in the corral with the horses, and at midnight everything was still quiet. It was Joe's turn next, and he decided to do the same thing I'd done – stay with the team. I headed for the makeshift bed he'd vacated but didn't expect to sleep; it didn't take long, though, and I was gone. Thank God, for once there were no dreams, no nightmares, just sleep, and I heard nothing the rest of the night. When I opened my eyes it was just beginning to get light outside, and I knew we'd dodged a bullet. Or should I say arrow?


	5. Shots Fired

Chapter 5 – Shots Fired

I got everybody up; Joe hitched the horses. I felt sorry for poor Nate – I know he was hungry, but he never whined or complained when his mother told him there was no food until we got to the next way station, about forty miles away. I found some coffee that the Apaches had missed, and we all made do with the black liquid in place of breakfast.

We loaded everybody and started off again – at least the horses had gotten rest and water. It was late in the day when we hit Way Station Ten, and I was never so glad to see a corral full of horses and Ben Tucker, the station agent.

"Runnin' late, ain't ya, Joe?" Ben asked as we pulled up. "Trouble out there?"

I helped the passengers off as I heard Brady answer him. "Apaches. Burned out Nearing Station and killed the Weavers. We had to stay over last night to rest the horses and take care of the bodies. Didn't get any food last night or this morning, so we've got a hungry bunch. You ready for us?"

"That's a right shame. Fred and Thelma was good folks. Mamie's inside with plenty of food, she's been cookin' all day knowin' you was comin through. Who's your shotgun rider?"

"Bart Maverick," I told Ben as we shook hands. "Just for this one run."

Joe and me walked inside to get some supper while Tucker changed the horses. Smash, Sarah, and Nate were already eating, and we quickly joined them. Joe put away two plates of stew while I got through one, and he turned towards me when he was finished. "We need to run tonight, Bart. Gotta make up the time we lost. I know it won't be easy, but we have to do it."

I nodded. He was right, it wouldn't be easy, but I understood the necessity. We couldn't travel at the same speed as we did during the day, but we could get that much closer to Abilene by morning. We were supposed to be there sometime tomorrow evening, and there was only one way we'd make that schedule. I'd eaten as much as I intended to and grabbed another cup of coffee. Time to herd the cattle back to the coach. "Okay folks, stage is leavin' in ten minutes. Mrs. Tucker, you got any food we can take with us?"

"I'll have something for you in five minutes, son," she stated as she began putting apples into a basket. At least Nate and his mother would have something to eat in the morning. I had no doubt that Brady was gonna be able to run straight through to Abilene from here. After what we'd seen last night I had no problem with that. Besides, we still had to get the money to Abilene, and there was always the chance of running into somebody who'd decided they needed the funds worse than the bank.

"You all set?" Joe asked once the passengers were inside and I was sittin' next to him.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I answered, and we were on our way.

We made pretty good time until it got dark, then Joe brought the horses down to an easy gait and we took the road slower. The night was quiet and clear, and I dozed on and off while we moved ever closer to our destination. The sun had just broken on the eastern horizon when something caught my attention. I'm not sure what it was – a flash of light, the sun glinting off a gun barrel, perhaps. Within a few minutes there was gunfire, and Joe soon had us flying down the road. When I turned my head I spotted four horses with riders, far enough away that I needed the rifle, and exchanged the gun in the boot for the one in my hands. I leaned over the side of the coach and yelled, "Smash! Outlaws!"

I maneuvered myself into a better position to shoot and started firing. All four shot back, but before they got close enough to hit anything I caught one of the horses and he went down, his rider falling head over heels. They pulled closer and I could hear Miller shooting from the coach; I got lucky and winged another of the outlaws. Joe was driving the horses like a maniac; next thing I heard was a truncated scream from inside. I didn't know what happened; nothing too serious, I hoped. Smash kept shooting and so did I.

One of the outlaws had almost caught up to us when I felt something sting my left arm. I dropped the rifle and pulled my Colt, but not before he'd shot into the coach. It went silent inside as I took careful aim and fired, knocking the would-be-robber off his horse. The fourth man, still behind us, finally quit shooting and pulled his mount up. We'd outrun the outlaws.

I didn't realize what a price we'd paid until Joe finally slowed the team down and pulled them up in a grove of trees just off the road, several miles further ahead. "You've been hit," was the first thing he said, and it was obvious from the pain in my arm he was right.

"Not bad," I countered, as I pulled off my jacket. "You got a handkerchief?"

"Yeah, here," Brady pulled out the kerchief and tied the wound off so the bleeding would stop. I was right, it wasn't bad, and would certainly wait to be tended to until we got to Abilene. I got down on one side and Joe stayed on top for the moment, but when I looked into the stage I didn't find what I expected. Sarah Gray was sitting on the far side of the coach, with Nate wrapped in her arms. She was talking to him quietly, attempting to comfort him. Miller's .45 lay on the seat next to her. Smash was slumped in the near seat, with what appeared to be a bullet hole in his chest. He was very dead.

"Joe, you better come on down," I called up to the man holding the reins, and he was down on the far side of the coach fairly hastily.

"What's wrong?" he started, and stopped as soon as he looked inside the stage. "Oh no, Barney!" was the next thing I heard, apparently Smash's real name. "The outlaw that got close?" Sarah nodded her head, still holding Nate, shielding him from the dead man sprawled on the seat across from them.

"Let's get him out. We can tie him on top," I suggested, not the best solution but better than Nate and his mother riding the rest of the way to Abilene in close proximity to a dead man.

We did our best; it took some time and effort, but we finally got Miller's body tied on top of the coach. Sarah had gotten Nate to fall asleep and I helped her down so we could talk where the boy wouldn't hear us if he woke up.

"You screamed. Is that when Miller got shot?"

She nodded and brushed away a tear. "Yes. I grabbed his gun and kept shooting; I didn't know how badly he was injured at first. When that man rode up alongside and fired into the coach he hit Mr. Miller again; that's when I realized he was dead. I . . . I didn't shoot after that."

"I'm sorry – that's why we decided to take the body up top – you and Nate don't have to sit with it the rest of the trip." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and then looked back up at me. "Your husband teach you to shoot a gun?"

"He did. He wanted to make sure I could if I needed to. I just grabbed the pistol instinctively."

"You be alright the rest of the way? We should be in Abilene tonight." _'Unless something else happens,'_ I thought, but I didn't say it. Sarah Gray had dealt with enough on this trip; she didn't need anything else to worry about.

"We'll be fine," she insisted, and I walked her back to the coach and helped her in. Nate was still asleep on the seat, and she picked him up and held him. Joe was already back in the driver's box, and I climbed up and joined him.

"You think we can make it the rest of the way without any more trouble?" I asked.

"I hope so," was the answer I got as we started off again. That made two of us. What had started out as a way to make a poker stake for myself had quickly turned into a nightmare for all of us.


	6. A Game of Fours

Chapter 6 – A Game of Fours

Our luck held this time, and we limped into Abilene later that day. We stopped at the stage office to unload Mrs. Gray and Nate, then pulled up to the bank to deliver the transferred funds they were waiting for. I could see Joe visibly relax after the money was released to the bank, until he remembered that we carried Smash Miller's body on top of the coach.

That made our next stop the marshal's office. Joe knew Marshal Todd Bedford, so he did most of the explaining about what we'd run into on the trip here. I threw in an occasional, "That's right," or "Then the trouble started," but Brady was a pretty good storyteller. The marshal sent me over to Doctor Stevenson's office to get my arm looked at, and Doc put four stitches in the wound. After that I returned to the jail and Bedford had just finished writing up everything we'd told him. Joe signed it and handed it to me; I read over it as quickly as I could and signed it myself.

The marshal and Joe got Miller's body down off the top of the coach and over to the doctor's office, where another round of explanations was in order. I wasn't needed this time so I wandered on down to the stage coach office to wait for Brady. When I walked in I was surprised to find Sarah Gray and Nate still sitting inside. "I thought you'd be on your way to Centerville by now."

"My bags are still on the coach, and I can't get anybody to drive me there tonight, anyway. I have to wait until morning to hire someone. Nate and I will be staying at the hotel tonight. By the way, how's your arm?"

"Four stitches," I replied, and Nate was instantly alert.

"Stitches?" he queried. "Can I see them?"

"Nathaniel Gray, you most certainly may not. Where did you ever get such an idea?" His mother was appalled that he would even want to look at something like that, but I understood completely. Once a boy, always a boy.

"It won't hurt anything, Mrs. Gray. And I sure don't mind."

"Are you certain, Mr. Maverick? It seems an unusual request for a child."

"Believe me, it's not. I'd have asked the same thing at his age," I explained to his mother as I took off my jacket and pushed up the sleeve of my shirt. Nate was fascinated, and before I could stop him he'd reached out and touched what the doctor had stitched. It was still sore and I flinched; his mother immediately grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

"You were given permission to look, not touch, Nathaniel. Tell Mr. Maverick that you're sorry for hurting him."

In the littlest voice imaginable I heard, "Sorry." The boy was now perched on the edge of the bench his mother was sitting on; I was standing.

I headed for the door as I told Sarah, "Stay here, I'll get your luggage." She only had two bags and they weren't heavy, so I got them down and brought them back to where the Gray family waited. "Come on, I'll take them down to the hotel for you."

"You don't have to do that, Mr. Maverick," Nate's mother protested, but I felt I should.

"You put up with enough just to get here. You don't need to carry your bags, too."

The hotel was only two doors down, and carrying her bags gave me an excuse to get a room for the night. I had just about enough money left to pay for one night's lodging, but if I wanted to eat I'd have to get an advance from Brady. He'd already told me we weren't leavin' for Lubbock until morning; I could use a night in a bed with clean sheets.

Upstairs we all went; the Grays and their luggage to room two-twelve and me to room two-sixteen. I was almost ready to collapse on the bed when there was a knock on the door. Was somebody after me already? When I pulled it open I found Joe Brady with a cup of coffee in his hand, which he handed to me.

"You up for some poker?" he asked with a grin on his face. Poker was the reason I'd gotten into this state of affairs in the first place.

"No," I told him firmly. "I need sleep. Besides, I won't have any money until you get the bonus from the bank."

"Oh yeah," he reached for his wallet as he walked past me into my room. "The bank already paid me. Here's yours," and he handed me four one hundred dollar bills.

"That's more than we agreed on," I told him.

"We ran into a little more trouble than I expected."

A little more trouble, yeah. A burned out way station, dead station agents, no food, and oh yeah, stagecoach robbers and a gunshot wound with four stitches. Just a little more trouble. Don't get me wrong, I was more than happy to get the extra money, especially tonight. At least I could get some supper. But my financial good fortune meant that Joe got less, and he'd made the same trip I had.

Before I could say anything, Brady started laughing and couldn't stop. Pretty soon he had me laughing, too. Minutes later, when we finally stopped, I had to ask. "What was all that about?"

"I couldn't help it. I know how broke you are, and I'm the one that helped make you that way. And then you're gettin' ready to argue with me because I gave you more money than you expected. Maverick, you are one complicated gambler!"

And we started laughing all over again.

TBC


	7. The Deuce Chorus

Chapter 7 – The Deuce Chorus

The trip back to Lubbock was quiet and peaceful, especially compared to the trip we'd just finished. No outlaws, no Indians, no burned down way stations, and no passengers. We were bone tired by the time the trip was over, but we'd made it back in record time and had money to show for it.

Three nights later I was back in the same saloon, at the same poker table where Joe Brady had cleaned me out, playing with almost the same men. Pete Kramer had just folded, and that left Neal Russell, Joe Brady and me still in the game. As badly as poker had gone that last night before Joe and me left for Abilene, that's how good it had been ever since we got back from the trip to hell. I was playing like myself again, and Lady Luck had decided she was on speaking terms with me. I'd won the last five hands we'd played, and over the three-day stretch I was up over four thousand dollars. I was leaving for Amarillo in the morning, and it sure would be nice to take this last pot with me. Especially since there was almost fifteen hundred dollars in it.

"How many cards, Maverick?" Stew Bassett asked.

"Two." I slid my discards across the table and took the cards Stew gave me. I almost dropped them when I saw what they were – the two of spades and the King of Diamonds. The King didn't matter one bit – I already held the other three deuces. Joe Brady's hand from the night he beat me and left me with ten dollars on the table. The Lady was being ironic, and I almost laughed.

Brady shot me a curious look and asked for one card. Neal took three and almost as soon as he saw what they were, he threw them in. "Looks like it's just you two again," Stew pronounced, and I bet two hundred.

Joe kinda grunted, and I saw him throw four hundred dollar bills into the pot. "There's your two and two more."

' _Oh no, not this again!_ ' I thought, and decided I wasn't taking any chances this time. "Call," I laid down two bills and waited.

Brady had this crazy grin on his face as he laid his cards down. "Full house, sevens over Queens."

I couldn't help it; I burst out in great gales of laughter. "Hope this don't ruin your night, Brady," and I set those beautiful little deuces down on the table.

The look on Joe's face was priceless. "I'll be damned," he mumbled, and reignited my laughter. We'd traded winning hands from that last night before the stage trip, and I was gonna leave town with six thousand dollars in my wallet. I'd met and made a friend in Joe Brady, and I had four more stitches in my left arm. I figured I'd come out ahead this time, and couldn't wait to get to Amarillo and spend the next few days with my brother. Life doesn't get much better.

The End


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